


The Last Wish - A Remix

by LozaMoza



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Horses, It gets really steamy in the end, Meet-Cute, Organized Crime, Sexual Tension, Smoldering Burn, Smut, because Geralt and Yennefer, because slow burn isn't in Geralt and Yennefer's vocabulary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:47:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25533082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LozaMoza/pseuds/LozaMoza
Summary: A Modern Take on The Last WishWhere Yennefer is a jaded large animal vet bent on extortion of her wealthiest clientGeralt is the disenchanted son of a crime family hiding under the guise of horse racing and breedingDandelion is a former playboy turned lifecoach after a recent wellness retreat to SedonaAnd Triss is a horse
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 178
Kudos: 84





	1. It's Kombucha Time, Bitches!

**Author's Note:**

> This is really a chance for me to explore something I normally wouldn't - modern AUs. I really wanted to push outside my comfort level here. I hope you enjoy the ride!

**YENNEFER**

Yennefer looked over at the alarm on her phone and groaned.  _ Was there a more ungodly hour than 5:00am? _ She didn’t think so. _ Fuck _ . She was having an incredible dream, too. Tall man, large muscles, talented tongue. Far more inviting than the line of utterly dull lovers she’d been with as of late.

Throwing the wretched phone across the room - and then instantly being grateful she sprung for one of those ultra-protective cases - she threw her legs over the bed and balked at the sensation the cold tile left on her bare feet. She had fallen asleep in the cot in the back again, it seemed. It wasn’t surprising. She was practically chained to this office. When she began her career as a veterinarian, it was under the adorably naive belief that she was there for only the animals. Perhaps this would have been true had she chosen a different field of veterinary medicine, but throughout her relatively short tenure, she had become a jaded soul. Large animal veterinary practice was difficult, and to work with race and show horses harder still. She had witnessed the lengths some cruel individuals would go, how hard they would push their animals, and it sickened her. Too many times she’d been called out to euthanize an animal with an injury that was repairable, even though it meant it’s racing days were done. Or be called out to put down a two-year old because it had been trained too hard too young, rendering it permanently lame. How many of these beloved creatures had paid with their lives for an owner's dream to find the next Secretariat? It was an industry she could no longer be party to. She had to get out. And she had a plan to do it.

Extortion.

Yes, perhaps it fell under the grey area of the morality spectrum, but she didn’t give a shit. She had dreams of her own. The Rivia’s, the wealthiest horse racing family in Rinde, were, as far as she was concerned, some of the worst abusers when it came to the welfare of their animals. They trained big, won big, and bred big, and the animals that didn’t make the high bar were culled. To date, she had put down 4 young stallions and 1 mare, all the animals pushed to the breaking point of exhaustion and beyond. One of these was on the track itself, when the trainer promised to rest the poor mare after a stress fracture to her foreleg, only to instead pump her with painkillers and enter the young mare into her scheduled race. Coral, she was called, due to the orangish hue of her coat. The leg shattered, and Yennefer was needed to end her misery. 

She had hated the Rivia’s ever since, and relying on them to not only fund her practice but pay off her substantial student loan debt was highly inconvenient. Yet, they were the most well-heeled family in town - Yennefer suspected there was far more to their story than a simple horse racing and breeding family - so she had stayed the course, worked on the animals, all while quietly plotting her escape with their money.

The idea had started simple: photograph the evidence of their abuses and threaten to release them if the Rivia’s didn’t pay up. Immediately Yennefer found the snags in that. For one, the Rivia’s were paranoid to the extreme. Before Yennefer was even allowed to see the animals, her phone was confiscated and her person checked for any recording devices. This was explained away as a requirement to prevent outside trainers from stealing secrets, but she suspected it was far deeper than that. It also meant that the Rivia’s were her primary client, and when she was with them, she was unavailable for any outside emergencies. 

And of course there was the constant surveillance. In Kaer Morhen, the name of the Rivia’s estate, she had counted at least 15 different cameras on her short walk to the stables. This didn’t include any cameras in the main home, of which she was sure there were plenty, and the cameras she either missed or were hidden. 

And then there were the physical guards. The stable manager and head trainer assured her this was only for the protection of the animals - something Yennefer didn’t buy for a second - and that she should pay them no heed. But that was hard, as she would likely be staring at the barrel-end of one of their glocks if her plan didn’t go smoothly. And as of now, it was anything but smooth. In fact, it was an intangible mess.

“Yennefer! Yennefer are you ready?” a voice called from the front. It was her assistant, Chireadan. Fuck, she had to get going.

“Give me 5 minutes. Why are you here so damn early anyway?” she yelled as she rushed to the bathroom. She brushed her teeth and swept her long curly black hair back in a messy bun. In college she had tried, and failed, to keep it straight with constant punishment from the flat iron. Her wild locks rebelled immediately, twisting and curling with the slightest humidity, and she finally gave up and let them be. It was a pointless battle, and at 29, she had learned to love her curls. She swept a couple coats of mascara over her long lashes, out of habit more than necessity, and threw on a pair of black jeans with her white tank, tucking the front into her pants. She grabbed her light gray sweater to fight the early morning chill that still hung in the air and walked out of the back room. 

Chireadan was waiting for her, smiling widely. Blonde and young, he was all smiles and dimples as he handed her the grande-sized cup. “I thought I would bring you some coffee to help you wake up. I know you’re not a morning person. You like it black, right?”

_ Oh Chireadan _ ... _ it’s not going to happen. _ The boy, she could tell, was in love with her. He was sweet in his own way, and he truly did work hard in the clinic, but he was far too young and she far too busy to bother with any sort of romance. Good God, long term romance was the last thing she wanted in her life.

“I do, and thank you Chireadan. This will help, immensely.” His smile widened. _ Ugh… _ “I need to go up to Kaer Morhen again. Seems a mare there is having some issues with her gate. Can you stay here to help with the Allens? Their cat is due for some shots.”

“I’m always happy to help you, Yennefer,” he smiled. She forced a smile in return and turned away. 

“Thanks,” she said, just wanting to get out of the room. She really didn’t have the desire to placate the lovesickness of 22-year old assistants. Seeing those blue eyes gaze up at her in longing made her decide she could at least use a distraction. Her on-and-off lover, Beau, was hosting a party at his home tonight. He certainly wasn’t the man in her dream this morning, but he was at least as skilled as a vibrator, and she was tired of resorting to that to relax her. Maybe she’d go to the party and to his bed later, should the mood take her? She could use the distraction, and he certainly wouldn’t mind.

She took a sip of the coffee as she closed the door to her Model 3. At least it was hot. 

**GERALT**

The banging on his apartment door was loud and wholly unwelcome. 

“GERALT!! OH GERALT! Wake up! It’s time for kombucha.”

“Get the fuck outta here with that kombucha shit, Julian,” he yelled back as he rubbed his eyes.  _ Fuck he was exhausted, and he was hungry as hell. What time was it? 5:30am? Why the fuck was Julian here at 5:30am?! _

“I TOLD you, the best way to open yourself to your greatest potential self is to greet the morning with open arms.”

“Julian, I don’t give a fuck what you learned on that retreat in Sedona. Leave me alone!” Geralt yelled back as he pulled his pillow over his head.

The front door opened.  _ Fucker has a key _ . 

“Rise and shine with open arms and a grateful heart, Geralt!” Dandelion said as he walked into his room. “Here’s you kombucha. And I’ll ask you again, please refer to me as Dandelion.  _ Julian _ is a version of my past self, and while I respect the trials and tribulations that self went through, I am working to manifest my new being into a higher plain of consciousness. This I do as Dandelion.”

“Go fuck your former, present, and future selves. Why do you have a key?” Geralt groaned.

“I’m choosing not to be offended by such barbarity as I know it’s just your dislike of mornings rather than me coming through. And I dog sat Roach for you last month, remember?” Roach, the chocolate lab with big ears, floppy tongue, and a love of potato chips, barked at Dandelion from the foot of Geralt’s bed. “Anyway, let’s go. Sunrise yoga on the shore of the lake. You promised me.”

“There is no world that I would agree to sunrise yoga.”

“There is, and it’s this one. You promised.”

“What? When?”

“When I covered for your ass last week with your parents, that’s when. You said you owed me when you pulled a no show for the delivery. Remember?” Dandelion smirked

“And this is how you’re calling in that favor?  _ Sunrise fucking yoga _ ?” Geralt shook his head. 

“As your new life coach, your spiritual wellness and mental fortitude is my utmost concern. Here, have the kombucha,” Dandelion said as he handed Geralt the cup.

“I never agreed to you being my life coach, Ju...Dandelion. God what a stupid name.”

“And you wonder why I worry about you. Listen to how jaded you’ve become.”

“They’re not your fucking family, man.” Geralt looked away, a mix of shame and disgust on his face.

Dandelion sat down next to Geralt on the bed and sighed. “I know, Geralt. I know. Come on, get dressed and drink it and we’ll go. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Geralt nodded and stood up. “Fine. Give me five minutes. Take Roach out and feed her, will ya?” Dandelion grabbed the happy dog and went outside while Geralt took a sip of the kombucha. As he expected, it tasted like shit. 

Maybe sunrise yoga would help? What’s the worst that could happen? 


	2. Isn't Dandelion a Weed?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dandelion gets himself into a bit of a mess...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story, oh Lordy what did I get myself into, lol?!

**Geralt**

They made it to the lake before the sun had officially risen, which according to the recently-dubbed Dandelion was important to properly feel the energy of a sun salutation. 

“Hands in prayer position and focus on your breathing,” Dandelion called out. “The Namaskar will give you an opportunity to return to your center, but you must focus on your breathing. Geralt? Geralt are you even listening?”

Geralt was not. Rather, he was brooding. Dandelion reminded him yet again of the ugly truth of who his family was, a truth he had been unsuccessfully trying to hide from. Since 1993, one year after his family moved from Poland to the US after the collapse that ended the USSR, his family had been running a lucrative drug business, importing and distributing over 5 tonnes a year of Mexican heroin throughout the US. His father had used old Afghani ties when they had first arrived, eventually moving the production to Mexico after the American war disrupted his pipelines. His mother Vi had been pregnant with him at the time they moved to the US. Geralt and his brother Lambert had never known another life. His father Ves grew up dirt poor in Communist Eastern Europe, but he had a head for numbers and was an incredibly cautious man. Under his calculated and tempered leadership, the family had avoided the pitfalls that claimed so many. But it was his mother, Vi, who made it all above board. Her love and obsession with horses proved to be the families alibi, and they repeatedly raced and bred the best thoroughbreds the racing world had to offer. With upkeep of the stables and animals factoring in the millions every year, it proved a convenient laundry for the dirty money the drugs brought in, and solid enough to keep away the Feds. The dirty money mixed with the clean from the racing trade, and everything came out sparkly fresh. It was a smooth business, and his father was ready to pass it to Geralt.

Geralt wanted none of that shit. 

He saw the “benefactors” of his father’s due diligence in keeping the supply lines full. The junkies that would wander with vacant eyes, the children left without parents, the tired doctors dealing with another overdose. It disgusted him. So when his father had wanted him there to receive the latest shipment brought over the border by mules in their employ, Geralt had simply decided not to show. 

Ves had been enraged, but Dandelion had covered for him, claiming a vicious attack of food poisoning. Did his father actually buy that sad excuse? Probably not, but Geralt had been avoiding his calls to find out. 

“GERALT!! You are not focusing on your breathing at ALL!” 

Geralt sat down on the soft mat and sighed. “I can’t focus on this crap right now.”

Dandelion rolled his eyes. “Geralt, the entire point of this is to just focus on one thing, your breathing, to calm your thoughts. If you give it a chance it can change your life.”

  
“Dandelion, if that’s what I’m supposed to call you now, you’ve been a life coach and spiritual advisor for approximately 2 months. 6 months ago, you were snorting lines off a hooker’s ass when we went to Vegas for Eskel’s bachelor party. I’m still not convinced your wellness retreat wasn’t court-ordered rehab your family did an excellent job at covering up. So forgive me if I have a hard time buying the shit you’re peddling.”

“You wound me, Geralt. You wound me deep.”

“I’m sick of this crap, man. I’m done. I’ve got work in 2 hours. I need to get back and get ready.” He picked up the pale green yoga mat Dandelion had leant him (Best color for achieving inner peace apparently) and rolled it back up, ignoring the early-morning dew clinging to the bottom of the mat. He tossed the wet thing to Dandelion and made his way to Dandelion’s Tesla Model X. He had recently changed out his Maserati Levante as he “could no longer be party to the fossil fuel overlords”. Geralt had to admit, the Model X was a better choice anyway, especially considering Dandelion had a tendency to play on his phone while behind the wheel and the autopilot feature had saved them from a crash more than once. 

Dandelion sighed and rushed to join him. “And another thing, Geralt. I do not understand this ‘job’ of yours. What the hell is the point? Your family’s rich. You could be relaxing poolside everyday waiting for dear old dad to hand the reins of the empire over to you. Instead, you’re spending your days in that clinic. It makes no damn sense.”

“I want nothing to do with their money, Dandelion,” Geralt growled as he got into the car, bitter that it didn’t have a door he could slam. “And I need to...help.” 

How could he make Dandelion understand that anytime he helped treat a withdrawal symptom and repair the physical damage his family’s business did to the people of this area, he was paying his penance. And he would forever be in debt. 

“I think, if you just open yourself up to the more positive energies around you, you’ll lose this total melancholy and be able to accept the bounty the Universe is offering you,” Dandelion said as he started the car. 

“Just take me home, Dandelion. Please.” He had a long shift ahead of him. 

Neither noticed the black sedan that followed them.

**Yennefer**

The mare with the gate issue was called Triss, and pretty little chestnut who preferred her male to female trainers. Unfortunately, the poor animal had been trained far too hard, and she had multiple hairline fractures in her right hindleg. Yennefer wrapped them as best as she could and prescribed her 4 months rest. As she looked at the list to see who the filly’s trainer was, she scowled.

“Is this correct?!” she yelled to the stablehand near her? “Is Fringilla her fucking trainer?”

The boy looked scared. Yennefer was small, only 5’3”, but she had a presence about her. She had inherited her unusual eye color from her grandmother. Violet. No one else in her family had them, and when she was a young child, she remembered her grandmother telling her there was power in their eyes; that they would scare many, but a select few would cherish them, and those few were the ones to keep. 

So far, they had only inspired fear and awe. 

“Y...Yes, Ma’am. Fringilla is her trainer.”

“Damnit!” she screamed, and the poor boy jumped. Fringilla was responsible for killing young Coral with her lack of compassion. She forced the horse into that race before she had fully healed, and the animal shattered her leg. Yennefer would be damned if that would happen again. She stormed out. 

Fringilla was in the paddock lunging a yearling. When she saw Yennefer, she handed the rope to her assistant and walked to the edge of the paddock, leaning casually on the gate. She wore her traditional garb: riding pants, high boots, tucked in blouse, and hair in a short bob. Her green eyes danced in defiance when she stared at Yennefer. “I see the Rivia’s still need to rely on this town’s sad excuse for a veterinarian.” Yennefer seethed.

“Tell me, Fringilla, how many of the Rivias have you fucked to keep this job? We both know your training skills leave much to be desired. You must have quite the talented mouth to keep the paychecks rolling in.” Fringilla hissed, but Yennefer ignored her. “Oh don’t be so bitter, darling, and don’t be shocked. No one here thinks you’re in this position because you’ve earned it.”

“What the hell do you want, Yennefer?”

“Triss has fractures on her back right metacarpal. She’s out for four months.”

Fringilla looked her over and smirked. “Sure, ok Yennefer.”

“I swear to God if this turns into another Coral incident I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” Fringilla cut her off. Yennefer was silent. “Exactly, Yenna, you have nothing, you are nothing, and you’re just as tied to them as me. At least I take some pleasure out of my fucking.” She laughed.

Yennefer felt her face grow hot with rage. Fringilla just laughed once more than turned to resume lunging the colt. Yennefer turned and stormed off. 

When she got to her car, she called Beau. He answered on the second ring. 

“Yennefer? You there? You change your mind about coming to the charity auction, baby?”

She groaned. She hated being called “baby”, and he most certainly wasn’t anything to her but a quick lay, but she seriously needed a stress reliever for tonight. 

“What time?” she sighed. She could feel guilty about it later if she needed to. Right now, she just wanted to forget how truly fucked by the Rivias she actually was.

**Geralt**

His shift at the clinic had been a brutal one. When he had gone for his RN, his parents initially balked. Doctor was understandable, but a nurse? Yet Geralt preferred the duties of a RN. He wanted to be on the ground floor, dealing with the people his family put there. Of course he didn’t tell them that; he’d made up some story about wanting to experience life in the trenches before going on forward with his LNP, but that was a lie. As long as his family put these people in the clinic, he would deal with the consequences. 

Dandelion (God he hated that name) immediately could hear how miserable Geralt was on the phone when he called to apologize about snipping at him this morning. While him waking up at 5:30am absolutely wasn’t in the plan, it also wasn’t Dandelion’s fault he was always in a shit mood.

True to his higher self, Dandelion took the apology well and suggested they start slowly into his spiritual awakening; maybe a drink at the local pub would help. Geralt didn’t give a shit about any awakening of his spirit, but after dealing with 4 patients suffering under severe withdrawal symptoms today, he needed to forget, and the pub was as good a place as any. 

“Geralt! Julian! Good to see you both! It’s been ages. Where the hell have you been?” 

“Hey Regis,” Geralt smiled. The bartender was a good friend, one that had seen them home safe on many a drunken night in the past. “Just a shitton of work.”

“Hello, Regis.” Dandelion said as he bowed slightly. “I have missed you, dear friend, but in the effort to grow into the best and highest version of myself, I have needed to shed the old. To that end, I wish to inform you that ‘Julian’, kind and compassionate as he may have been, has now transitioned to a higher plain of consciousness. I am Dandelion.”

“Wha…” Regis said, staring at Dandelion with a confused glare. 

“He changed his name to Dandelion. He’s not Julian anymore. Something about Sedona and consciousness and all that crap. I just want a lager.” Geralt yawned as he sat down. 

“Um...ok. Isn’t a dandelion a weed though? Why name yourself after a weed?”

“Excellent question, Regis, and one I am happy to explain. In the meantime, do you serve kombucha?” 

To Geralt’s shock, Regis nodded and poured. “Diuretic,” Regis whispered to him. “Good for the bowels.”

“So there I was in this field of sagebrush and wildflowers, resting in the Arizona desert sun…” Dandelion began. Geralt just groaned. 

*******

“How much kombucha did you drink, Dandelion? What the hell?” Geralt sighed as he held the door to the alley open for Dandelion, who was currently on sec 48 of his epic piss. The bathroom had been occupied and Dandelion could not wait. Geralt couldn’t blame him.

“Shut up, Geralt. You heard Regis, diuretic.”

“That’s not what that means...”

“Is your name Julian?” a deep voice asked. It was too dark to make out anything but a profile from where he stood, next to a black sedan. 

Dandelion finished his piss, tucked himself into his jeans, and turned. “Once, yes, it was Julian. But I have shed that skin to become Dandelion.”

“Do you know Countess de Stael?”

“Oh my lovely Connie, what sexual heights we did reach together,” Dandelion mused. 

“So you did fuck her?”

“I would hardly call the ecstasy we gave each other a meer ‘fuck’,” Dandelion replied. “Our bodies sang ballads in tune with one another. We fell off the greatest cliffs to dive into a sea of bliss…”

“This is from her husband.” And with that, the man took out a silenced handgun and shot Dandelion in the stomach. He jumped into the car and was off. There were no plates.

“FUCK!” called Geralt as he ran to catch him. 

“Geralt, I...I’ve been shot!” Dandelion winced.

“We need to get you to a hospital! FUCK!”

“Geralt no! You can’t! You know my connections with the family.”

Dandelion was right. This was a gunshot wound, and the hospital would be required to have the police investigate. It could easily spell problems with his family. 

“Think of something, Geralt,” Dandelion moaned as he clenched his belly. Luckily the wound wasn’t bleeding heavily, but from the location of the bullet entry, there was a real chance of bowel perforation, which meant a danger of possible sepsis. “I think I’m going to pass…” and Dandelion slumped over unconscious. 

“FUCK!” Geralt yelled once more. What the hell was he going to do?

*******

Geralt banged on the door of the clinic, screaming for anyone to answer. “HELLO?!? I see your damn lights on!! HELLO?? I need help!”

A younger blonde male in his early twenties answered, confusion on his face when he saw an unconscious Dandelion in Geralt’s arms. “Sir, this is a veterinary clinic, not a…”

“I know what it is,” Geralt cursed as he carried Dandelion in. “Are you the vet? This man needs surgery, now. Bullet wound.”

“But, we aren’t a hospital! We can’t…” the man was nervous. 

“NOW!” Geralt said again. “He works for me, we can’t go to the hospital, and I’ll pay you not to ask why.” 

“I, I’m not the vet, she’s not in…” the kid began to mumble incoherently.

Of fucking course. “Where is she?”

“Beau Berrant’s place. He’s having one of his charity events.” Geralt groaned. He hated the Berrants, Beau especially. They were political hacks at best, but they voted the way the Rivia’s needed them to to keep the supply lines open and undisturbed. 

“Good, I’m going to grab her. Listen to me carefully: keep pressure on that wound. Do not remove your hands, you got it? And if you call the cops…”

“I won’t! I promise!” the poor kid was shaking. Good. Geralt was a tall man, broad shoulders and defined muscles, hair long and completely white. He made an impression.

“Good. Now what the hell is this vet’s name?”

“Yennefer,” the boy replied. “Yennefer Vengerberg.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Triss is a horse. ;)


	3. Is That a Juice Box?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apple Juice Time!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Money opens all doors. It's too iconic a line to leave out in any adaptation.

**Yennefer**

She turned over, head groggy from drink, and groaned. 

“Fuck.”

There, snoring in a lump next to her, was Beau Berrant. In hindsight, she shouldn’t have let Fringilla get to her so much. She shouldn’t have come to this stupid charity event, and she definitely shouldn’t have ended in Beau’s bed. She didn’t even like the fool, and as far as pleasurable fucks went, he was _painfully_ average. She just wanted him gone. 

“Beau!” she groaned as she shook him. He muttered something incoherent. “BEAU!” He woke.

“Yennefer, wa..what is it. Shit, the gala…I gotta get back downstairs for the donors.”

“Sure, fine, whatever.” _He was leaving, thank God._ “But get me some apple juice, will you?”

“You want apple juice?” He started dressing and Yennefer turned aside, too disgusted to even watch him. 

“Yes, apple juice. Thanks.” She flipped over and covered her head with the pillow. At least the Berrant’s were rich - Beau came from a long line of politicians more than willing to accept a bribe - so the linens were excellent quality. She’d get the juice, shower in that gorgeous masterbath she spotted, and get the hell out of this house. And delete Beau from her phone. The linens were exceptional; the sex decidingly less so.

**Geralt**

Geralt parked his Jeep and ran up the house. He had been here with his father more times than he wanted to remember, the Berrant’s working hard to ingratiate themselves with the wealth of the Rivia’s, even to the extent of pushing their pissant of a son Beau onto Geralt when they were younger. Beau was the same age as Geralt, but even as a child he could never stand the sniveling little boy and did his best to ignore him. Now Beau was following in the political footsteps of his father, and once again the Berrant’s were working to tighten their relationship. In the past month, he had been invited to their home twice. He’d ignored both invitations.

“Name?” the man at the entrance to the mansion asked.

“Rivia”

“Rivia? VIP I see,” the man said as he stepped aside to let Geralt in.

“Money opens all doors,” muttered Geralt.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Tell me, is there a Yennefer Vengerberg here? I need to speak with her immediately.”

“Geralt?” a voice from behind interrupted. “Geralt is that you? I didn’t think you’d be here.”

Geralt turned to see Beau, holding what looked to be a juice box. 

“Beau,” he responded. “See you’ve taken that rehab stint seriously.” Beau looked at the juice box and laughed. 

“Nah, this isn’t for me. Anyway, let me take you to my parents. They’ll be glad you made it, although I do wish you would have read the invitation a bit more thoroughly. It did say black tie. Wait, is that blood?”

Geralt looked down at his clothes, and grumbled. He didn’t even realize he was so filthy, not that it mattered. “I’m not here for the charity gala. I need some help from the veterinarian Yennefer Vengerberg and her assistant said she was here. It’s urgent.” Beau looked him over, confused. “My dog, Roach.”

“Well, sure, and this actually works out well because I gotta get back in there, so here…” he shoved the juice box in Geralt’s hand. “That’s for her. She’s in the master immediately to the left, upstairs.” With that, Beau left for the large hall. Geralt held the apple juice in his hand, looked around for a moment, then made his way upstairs to the room on the left.

*******

He knocked on the door multiple times, waiting for an answer, before finally deciding just to walk in. He was hit with a smell of perfume, a flowery aroma mixed in with something a bit sharper, like berries, and he paused a moment just to breathe it in. He had never been a fan of perfume, but this? This he could enjoy.

A large four-post bed stood in the middle of the room, and under a mound of white linens a sigh called out. A calf, shapely with creamy skin, poked out from the covers, moving up and down the bedding slowly, and Geralt was transfixed. He swallowed, involuntarily squeezing the juice box hard enough that a little juice dribbled down his hands. The toes, he noted, were painted lilac purple. 

“Beau?” a voice both sensual and deep asked. “Is that you? Do you have my juice?”

“H..Here,” Geralt’s voice cracked as an arm reached out from the covers to stretch. He took a step towards her, juice box in his outstretched hand.

The movement stopped, and the leg shot under the covers. A mass of wild inky curls appeared, followed immediately by a pale face and slim neck. Geralt swallowed again. She was beautiful, arrestingly so, and not in the typical insta-model fashion he had grown to despise. Her hair was jet-black, the moonlight from the bedroom reflecting off it in purples and blues. Her skin was pale, a slight flush of color to her cheeks, and her lips were pursed. Her eyes glittered back at him, and he was certain they must have been violet. _Had he ever even seen violet eyes?_ She had a confidence about her he rarely saw, her gaze so penetrating he nearly blushed. As the covers fell away to reveal her shoulders, she gripped them tightly to her breasts. He begrudgingly turned his eyes away. 

“Who are you? What are you doing? Where is Beau?” she stated, her questions curt. 

“Which question would you like me to answer first?” he joked.

She glared at him then grabbed her phone on the nightstand. The phone went flying towards him, and Geralt barely missed it hitting his head.

“Who the FUCK are you?” she said again, angier this time.

“Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Geralt held is hands up, juice box in hand.

“I’m not scared of you, I want to know who the fuck you are and why you’re in this room.” She stared at his hands for a minute. “Is that a juice box?”

“My name is Geralt and I was looking for the vet Yennefer Vengerburg. I ran into Beau downstairs and he sent me to this room with a juice box, which I’m assuming is for you?” She nodded. He extended the juice box out to her, and the side of Yennefer’s mouth crinkled slightly. “I apologize for intruding; I truly didn’t mean any harm. I just...well… here’s your juice.”

She looked him over once and reached her hand to accept the juice, which he walked to her then stepped back. “You wouldn’t happen to be Geralt Rivia, of Kaer Morhen?” she asked as she took the smallest sip of juice. 

Geralt sighed slightly. It seems his family’s reputation proceeded him. “Yes, I am. Do you know my family?”

“Only the horses,” she responded. “I’m employed by your family to treat them and provide their care. I can’t say I’ve ever seen _you_ at the stables, however.”

“I’m not frequently at the estate,” he muttered back, making it clear in his tone he didn’t want to continue down that topic.

“Well, why are you here, in this room, Geralt Rivia?” she smiled cloyingly as she took another sip. 

“Just Geralt.” Yennefer’s brows raised a bit. “And I need your help. My friend is seriously injured.”

“Hmm, what species? Chiredean can handle most trauma on smaller animals but may need help with larger…”

“Human.”

She stared at him for a moment, her mouth opening slightly, and Geralt felt a powerful tremor run through him at the sight of it. “Just Geralt, you do realize I am a veterinarian. Usually, people tend to go to the hospital for treatment, where there are of course doctors and nurses trained at handling _human_ injuries.”

“Thank you for that valuable insight, Yennefer Vengerburg. As an RN myself, I never knew this,” he smirked back at her, then immediately regretted it. He was surprised to see she just laughed. 

“Just Yennefer. Well, at least you’re not as dull as I would have expected. But why a vet and not the hospital?”

“My friend, Julian, was shot in the stomach, and I’m guessing he has a potential bowel perforation. We can’t go to hospital because of the type of injury.”

“You mean, you can’t go to the hospital because of the inevitable police report they will be required to file. So the rumors of the family fortune may hold some weight.” Geralt said nothing. “Alright, Just Geralt, I’ll help you, but before I do anything, I must shower.”

“I think you missed the whole possible bowel perforation, Just Yennefer,” Geralt fired back. “We don’t have the luxury of time.”

“But we do, Geralt, because had the injury been substantial enough, you would have taken this Julian to a hospital, consequences be damned. I’m also certain that you currently have him under Chiredean’s care as you knew to come to the party to find me. And of course, if I am going to be performing a possible bowel reconstruction on a person in an attempt to avoid a police investigation, I will need to have my wits, and as you can see, surgery wasn’t exactly in the plan tonight, so I need a shower to ready myself.” 

“Yennefer, I…”

“I’ll not debate it, Geralt. The only reason I’m even agreeing to this at all is that you brought me juice. I’m willing to look at your friend for you, willing to break the law for you, but I’ll not do it before I shower. Have I made myself clear?”

Geralt groaned. “Yes,” he muttered angrily.

She looked him over once more. “I suggest you do the same, Geralt. I can smell the blood and gore your friend left on your shirt from here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of Geralt holding out a juice box, I die, lol.


	4. Tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexual tension, thy name is Geralt and Yennefer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, this chapter was FUN to write. Tension is, shall we say, fucking hot.

**Yennefer**

She gripped the sheet tightly around her frame as she took a step off the bed. 

“And how do you expect me to change, Yennefer? I didn’t exactly bring extra clothes here,” he grumbled.

She smirked, enjoying the back and forth with him. So often men she was with simply acquiesced to her demands, too insecure to challenge her. This Geralt seemed different. “There, in the wardrobe. I’m sure Beau has something you can borrow.”

“I hardly think they’ll fit,” he snarked back. “The man hasn’t seen the inside of a gym since middle school.”

It was true Beau had the physique that would turn towards an inevitable paunch as he aged, but it was hardly there now. “Stop whining, Geralt. Your clothing is covered in blood and I most certainly don’t want to go anywhere else with you until  _ that’s _ taken care of.” She heard him curse under his breath and walk to the wardrobe, pulling the stained long-sleeve shirt he was wearing over his head. She let out the smallest involuntary whimper at the sight of him. 

The muscles on his back moved in a fluid motion as his shirt fell to the ground, toned but not bulky. He turned to the side, revealing defined abs, and she bit her bottom lip. She saw a tattoo along his ribcage - unadorned script in a language she didn’t know - and she momentarily lost herself in him, standing dumbfounded in the sheet. She felt a heat between her thighs and she knew, without even a shadow of a doubt, that she would never have to fake orgasm just to get him to stop those pathetic little jackrabbit thrusts Beau seemed to favor. No, Geralt would leave her in toe-curling ecstasy, and despite herself, she wanted him to lead her there. She felt flushed.

_ Keep it together. He’s a Rivia. _

“See,” Geralt muttered, bringing her immediately out of her revelries. The plain black t-shirt he had on was tight around the arms, managing to accentuate the muscles in them even more. “Look how tight it is here? Like I said, the man hasn’t been to a gym….” he stopped, a queer look on his face. “Everything alright, Yennefer.”

“Perfectly fine,” she said, trying to compose herself. She took a deep breath. “Now, are you going to explain everything to me.”

“I thought you wanted to take a shower first?” he replied, smirking lightly at her. 

She huffed. “I can do both, Geralt.” As she walked towards the master bath, she intentionally shook her hair behind her and let the sheet fall down to the small of her back.  _ Two can play this game…  _

“I can wait outside…” Geralt, his voice strained, and she grinned. 

“Don’t be silly,” she let the sheet fall a bit lower and turned to the side, clutching it just so, allowing a hint of the side of her breast to show as she turned on the water. “This shower door can frost instantly with the push of this button. Beau mentioned it once and I’m dying to try it out.” Holding the sheet just enough to remain on the right side of decent, she pressed the button and the glass of the shower instantly frosted. “How terribly clever,” she laughed, then she looked at Geralt. “Would you mind turning around for just a moment?” He obliged. She dropped the sheet completely and stepped in. The glass was frosted from her neck down to her knees.  _ Perfect. _ “Ok Geralt, you can turn back around again.” He did. “I prefer to look at whomever I’m speaking with in the eyes, especially when it involves breaking the law. So explain to me again, how exactly did your friend Julian get shot and why is the hospital not an option?” Their eyes met, his golden-hazel to her violet-blue, as she smiled.  _ He really does have beautiful eyes. Pity he’s a Rivia. But perhaps this may be the break I need to finally get the fuck out of this city. _

**Geralt**

The frosted glass, Geralt noted, was doing a pisspoor job at covering anything beyond details, and for that Geralt was absurdly grateful.  _ Fuck, she was beautiful. She was the kind of beautiful you would do stupid shit for _ . He watched her with the same intensity that his dog Roach watched him when it was dinner time. Armageddon could be happening outside and Geralt sincerely doubted he would notice it. She was talking, but he had no idea what she was saying. The way she was lifting her arms to wash her hair, the outlines of her breasts lifting higher, the way she stretched her neck as the water ran down her back, the soap suds cascading over what he could just make out as her erect nipples, the slightest curve of her belly; all of it entranced him. He imagined licking those little rivulets of water running down her neck, over to swell of her breasts, putting his mouth around her nipples as…”

“Geralt? Did you hear me?”

“Wha...What?”

“Honestly Geralt,” she chided. “This is for  _ your _ friend. Now, what’s the likelihood of an actual bowel perforation? How prodigious is the blood loss?”

Geralt was having a hard time thinking beyond the throbbing erection in his jeans. “It, it didn’t seem like much.”

“The blood, was it a deep black color?”

“No,” he stated truthfully.

“So it’s possible the bowel isn’t perforated at all?”

“Of course it’s possible, and if anyone is going to be stupidly lucky enough to survive a gunshot wound to the stomach by instead getting a rib nicked, it’s him. But he still needs to have the bullet removed and it confirmed that the bowels are intact.”

“Of course he does,” she stated, and she turned off the shower. “Can you hand me the towel, please?” Geralt reached to hand her the heavy bath towel, draping it over the top of the glass door. He watched as she ran it over her limbs. When she bent over slightly to dry her hair, he groaned and turned away. _ Fuck, he was so hard it was starting to hurt. _

“So, again, why do we need to avoid the hospital? And Geralt, you can turn around.” He did, and he immediately swallowed. Her curls were wet across her shoulders and down her back, the towel was wrapped around her figure and deftly tucked into her cleavage. Her eyes flickered momentarily to his crotch and she smirked slightly. “Well?”

He cleared his throat. “I thought you knew about the rumors surrounding my family’s wealth.”

“Only the rumors. I’d like to hear it from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.”

“It’s probably best you remain in the dark,” he replied.

She stared at him intently. “Geralt, I am about to break the law and risk my license for you.”

“And for that, I am grateful.”

“As fulfilling as that gratitude is, I deserve some answers before I do this. If not, it’s been a pleasure meeting you, but you’ll need to take Julian elsewhere.”

Geralt slumped his shoulders. She had him. There was nowhere else he could take him that didn’t leave him with a lengthy explanation for the cops and opening up Julian to some potentially incriminating personal investigations. And he knew exactly how his father handled assets when they became a liability to the business. “Not here,” he replied. Yennefer let out a small huff. 

“Where then?”

“My Jeep, on the way over.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Fine, but I do expect an answer.” He just gruffed as a reply. She smiled again. “Don’t be so dramatic, Geralt, I’m hardly asking for a lot here.”

“You know we can compensate you handsomely for any services rendered, and of course for your discretion.”

Her eyes, he swore, twinkled slightly, and it was all he could do to not walk over to her and pull her into his arms and her lips to his. “Oh I know, Geralt Rivia, and believe me, I’m sure we can come to an agreement on what that figure will be.” They both stared at each other, and in that moment the very air felt electric around them, like the tingling sensation you get from an approaching thunderstorm. It passed as quickly as it came. She walked past him to grab a black dress, turning to him again. “Would you mind averting your eyes one more time? It’ll be the last, I promise.” He closed his eyes and heard her slipping the dress over her body. “You can open them again,” she said, and when he did, she was right in front of him. Her long lashes left shadows across her pale skin, her cheeks flushed from the warm shower. Her hair hung in damp ringlets behind her back. 

Her black cocktail dress was stunning. High neck and sleeveless, it fit close to her body, and hugged her small waist and rounded hips. “You look beautiful,” he said without even thinking. He immediately cursed his stupidity and flushed red. “I mean…”

“Thank you,” she smiled, and she stepped closer to him. “I need some help with the zipper, if you wouldn't mind?” She turned around in front of him. He saw the zipper started at the small of her back and went all the way up to the high collar. Slowly, almost reverently, he scooped her hair from the nape of her neck and placed the soft curls around her shoulder. He heard her gasp softly.

“I don’t want to get anything caught in the zipper,” he whispered in her ear, and she made the smallest noise that went straight to his cock and nearly made him double over. He trailed his finger down the column of her spine till he got to the bottom of the zipper and very slowly began to pull it up, trying desperately to keep his breathing under control. Yennefer stayed perfectly still, but he swore he could feel the hammering of her heart beneath his hands. When he finally pulled his own away from her, he missed the touch of her skin. He had never felt skin as soft and cool as hers, and he wanted more. They stood there for a moment. “All done,” he finally said, and she shook her head and stepped away.

“Thank you,” she said in a strained voice. She tried to smooth out her dress, tried to busy herself, before she finally looked his way. Her arms were covered in goosebumps. “Just one more thing.”

With that she grabbed her purse, pulling out a small bottle of cream. When she uncorked the jar, the smell of that flowery and sharp perfume filled the air once more and Geralt smiled. He was finding himself inexplicably drawn to that smell, wanting to surround himself in it, in her. He shook his head and tried again to maintain some semblance of composure. “Well,” she said after another moment. “Shall we?”

She grabbed her phone, looking it over for any damage, and then they both headed out of the house and into the night air. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently automatic frosted showers are a thing! Seriously!! It's like the perfect magic substitute here. I was stupidly excited about that realization.


	5. Behind a Pretty Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our poor hero is falling hard. And the heroine isn't much better. 
> 
> Of course neither would admit it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It wouldn't be The Last Wish without some ulterior motive, right?

**Yennefer**

Of all the vehicles she would expect from the son of - since the rumors were obviously true - a wealthy crime finally, a beat-up 90’s Jeep Wrangler was not among them. Her look must have given her surprise away, because he smiled. 

“I’ve never cared for luxury,” he said as he opened the car door for her. His hand trailed across the small of her back, coming to rest at the base of her spine, and she felt her body shudder in longing for him. She could not remember a time she’d been so out-of-sorts around someone. She pushed the desire aside.

“Surprising sentiment, given that I’ve been to the place you call home,” she responded to him. He immediately pulled his hand away from her and shut the door. She missed his touch. As he opened the driverside, he got in and slammed the door hard.

“I have not called that place home for many years,” he muttered in monotone that did little to belay the frustration in his voice. He turned the key and the engine started. She could tell he was upset; there was a deeper story there. He wasn’t like the few in the family she had seen in passing, ignoring the welfare of their animals if money was at stake. The compassion for his friend, the shunning of the wealth that was his birthright, none of these traits defined the Rivias. Yet here he was, doing all of that. She found herself wishing he wasn’t like this, that his hands didn’t feel so perfect on her skin that she was still aching for him to return them there. 

It didn’t matter. She had goals beyond what her vet practice could afford, and the Rivias were decidedly  _ not _ good people, even if this one may seem better than the others. She took a deep breath, fumbled quickly with her phone, and pressed record. 

**Geralt**

Her perfume was torturing him.  _ Torturing _ . He had never smelled anything so enticing. He could feel it encircling him, wrapping itself around his body, into his mind. It made him want to pull the car over, to grab her and make love to her, but _ fuck _ , he didn’t even know her. 

_ What the hell was wrong with him? _

“So, back at Beau’s, you promised me you’d give me more information once we were in your car.” He was quiet. “We’re in your car now, Geralt Rivia, so please, do tell.”

He groaned. The absolute last thing he wanted to talk to her about was his family. For his sake and her’s. He didn’t know why she was so insistent on information when more could only prove dangerous. “I told you before, you’ll be more than fairly compensated for any services tonight. Believe me when I tell you that the less you know, the better.”

“So the rumors are true? The Rivias are some sort of cartel?”

He balked at that. “I told you, the less you know…”

“The better, yes yes yes, you’ve said this. But I need to know exactly what I’m getting involved in before I do anything else. I’ll not let this go, Geralt, no matter the reason. This is my license, my practice, and my risk.”

He scowled as he stared at the road. “And you think knowing the details of who my family is will somehow make a difference?”

“To me, yes.” 

She said it so simply. He was used to women who, if they had any notion of his family’s wealth, would fawn over him in some wholly pointless attempt to ingratiate themselves to him, more specifically, to his money. She didn’t seem to care about impressing him, which left him unsure of how to handle her. Handle  _ this _ . He turned to her quickly, and her eyes, that violet blue ( _ could eyes even be violet? _ ), caught the moonlight and reflected tiny flecks of silvery-grey within them. He was entranced. She merely smiled. “The road, Geralt.”

“Huh?”

“The road. I certainly cannot help heal a potential bowel injury if we ourselves get in a wreck, can I?”

He turned back to the road again, silently chastising himself. Seriously,  _ what the fuck  _ was wrong with him? “Yes,” he whispered.

“Yes what?”

“To your other question. Yes.” He couldn’t understand why he was saying this, telling her something that could only put him at risk and endanger her. 

Actually, he did know why.

_ Because she asked. _

“Thank you, Geralt,” she said back, and he detected a note of something unexpected. Sadness? Guilt? He pulled the car into the parking lot of her small clinic. They both sat quietly for just a moment, breathing in time together, listening to the cicadas trill their endless serenades. She reached into her bag to grab something, and as she pulled her arm out, he grasped her wrist gently. She looked at him again, and everything in him screamed to kiss her. Time seemed to stop for a moment

She waited. 

He stayed perfectly still, like a deer caught in the headlamps of a car, too enraptured to turn away.

“Geralt, I…,”

“Thank you,” he finally muttered. He could hardly think beyond his desire to pull her to him, to feel if her lips were as velvety-smooth as he had been imagining; to learn what she tasted like. 

She looked at him for a moment, then finally tore her eyes from his. “Let’s go.” She opened the door and walked into the night air, her perfume lingering in worn leather of his car seats. 

*******

Chireadan was a mixture of concern and annoyance when they walked inside. It appeared Julian had been in and out of consciousness while Geralt had gone for Yennefer. At one point, he demanded to speak to the manager - Julian had always been a bit of a Karen - and had offered to be Chireadan’s spiritual guide. At the moment he was sleeping again, drooling heavily on the metal table. 

Yennefer examined the wound with a superficial glance and smiled. “I see nothing to indicate the bowels have been perforated, but I’ll need to do a closer examination and x-ray to find the location of the bullet. But good news, at least. Luckily Chireadan equipped this table with wheels a few months ago. I can take him back and do the surgery.”

“Do you need help?” Geralt asked, standing up. 

She smiled. “Do you know how to work an animal x-ray machine, Geralt Rivia?” He said nothing. “Chireadan, if you would be so kind.” Chireadan glared once at Geralt, then helped wheel Julian to the back. Geralt craned his neck, watching her leave.

*******

Chireadan came back out about 20 minutes later. “More good news for your friend. Dr. Vengerberg’s suspicions were correct and the bowel was intact. The bullet nicked a rib. To be honest, I’m not even sure why he’s unconscious. He woke again, saw the bloody towel, and passed out though, so my guess would be it’s more mental fortitude rather than physical pain. She’s stitching him up now.”

Geralt grinned. Julian, idiot that he was, was still his best friend, and thank- _ fucking _ -God he was the luckiest bastard in the world. He was going to be alright.

And...he’d met Yennefer. He looked over towards the surgery room. 

“I’d be careful if I were you.”

“Excuse me?” Geralt replied.

“With her. I’d be careful with her.” Chireadan was glaring at him once more, and Geralt felt waves of anger directed towards him coming off the young man.

“I’m not exactly sure what you mean,” he responded.

“I see the way you look at her. You’re not fooling anyone. I’m telling you to be careful, because I think you’re actually a decent guy, and I know her.”

“I really have no idea what you’re implying,” Geralt said, a bit darker this time. 

“Really?” Chireadan rolled his eyes.

Geralt watched him for a moment, the young man’s eyes darting back and forth, from lost puppy glances towards Yennefer’s direction to attack dog towards Geralt. “I know what this is about. You love her.”

“I don’t like the word love. I don’t like grand words.” 

“And yet, you do.” 

Chireadan glowered at him. “Just be careful. You don’t know Yennefer Vengerberg. There’s a lot more to her than a pretty smile.”

Geralt thought about their conversation in the car, how she had so quickly and effectively stripped away all of his defenses. He’d seen a lot of pretty smiles that hid nothing but empty air behind them. Yennefer definitely was not that. “I don’t doubt it.”

“Geralt?” Yennefer poked her head out from the surgery room. “You can come back here now. He’s done.” She disappeared behind the door. He glanced once more at Chireadan, then followed her inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grand Words is one of my favorite lines from Chireadan in the books, so I had to include it.


	6. Extortion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer wants what she wants, and Geralt, well he's trapped between lovesick and offended fury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was HARD to write. As anyone who has read the books knows, here's where Yennefer traps Geralt in a spell and makes him punch one man, spank another, and eventually gets thrown in jail. Trying to do something remotely similar without magic was tough, and I really didn't want to go the "she drugs him with something that turns him into a servile golum". Yennefer has plans of her own here, not that she's revealing them to Geralt, but MOST importantly, beneath it all, she's not a coldhearted bitch but someone else entirely.

Julian was still sleeping, muttering happily about “Connie” and her magnificent breasts. “Is he alright?” Geralt scrunched his face at the rather embarrassingly raunchy details Julian was sharing. 

“Morphine,” she laughed. “But yes, he’s going to be completely fine.”

“And his injuries?”

“Did Chireadan not explain?”

“He did,” Geralt replied. The truth was, he didn’t want to leave her yet, and that surprised and scarred him in equal measure. 

She looked at him for a moment, and he felt absurdly exposed under her glare.  _ What was there under that violet gleam? Humor? Desire? Distrust? Guilt? _ He had no idea. He didn’t know her well enough to know those eyes. He wanted to, though.  _ Fuck, he wanted to.  _

“The bullet lodged itself into his lowest floating rib, just missing the intercostal space; luckily for your amorous friend here, as a bullet going through that could have spelled disaster.” She glanced to Julian, who was moaning happily, whispering about creamy breasts and excitable nipples. She shook her head. “As it stands, he’ll recover well enough, though he will be sore for a time. I’d make sure he avoids any of those activities he’s muttering about now for a few weeks at least.”

Geralt laughed. “He’s reformed. He’s a life coach now, and he goes by Dandelion.”

Yennefer’s face scrunched a bit. “A dandelion is a weed.” 

Geralt chuckled. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I said.” She smiled softly, a little dimple forming on her left cheek, and Geralt had a near-overwhelming urge to cup his hands to her face; to pull her in and kiss her. He let out a shaky breath. “Yennefer, I…,” he swallowed. “Well, thank you.”

She looked at him again, and that same ghost of a response flashed before her eyes.  _ Guilt. It had to be guilt. _

“I didn’t do it for the ‘thanks’, Geralt.”

Something changed. In an instant, the atmosphere of the room shifted. He knew then; he knew she had a motive. His eyes narrowed.

“What do you want, Yennefer?”

“My payment,” she responded, her voice devoid of any emotion. 

“As I told you earlier, you’ll be handsomely rewarded.”

“Geralt Rivia, you cannot possibly expect me to believe the word of a drug cartel lordling, do you?”

He scowled. “If you knew a damn thing about me, you’d know I’ve nothing to do with that.”

“An innocent son  _ I’m sure,  _ but I find myself hard-pressed to believe you. After all, wasn’t it you promising me that I’d be paid for my services, reminding me  _ who _ your family was?” With that, she took out her phone and hit play. The conversation in the car they had had prior played back for him, with him admitting his family’s business dealings.

_ Fuck. _

He’d let his guard down; he’d trusted her, fool that he was, enamored with her soft skin and sweet smile, and he’d revealed the most fucking increminating thing he ever had about his family. He knew the repercussions. His father would ensure there were no loose ends.

Chrieadan, Julian, Yennefer, they would all have to die.

_ She _ would have to die. 

Even now, even with her using his own damn  _ voice _ to extort him, the thought of that made his blood run cold.

“Yennefer, believe me when I tell you, delete that shit immediately. I’ll forget this moment, you’ll get a nice little cash settlement, and we can  _ both  _ forget the other’s name.” For the slightest moment, he saw her wince at that. He felt the same. He hated saying it aloud.

_ What was wrong with him? _

He stepped closer. 

She immediately took a step back. “If you so much as touch me, I press send on this email to the media and expose you and your entire shit family for the piles of waste that you are.” Her voice was steady. She wasn’t the slightest bit afraid. He admired that. 

“You have no idea the kind of game you’re playing at right now, Yennefer. No fucking idea. You’ll get everyone here killed because of your recklessness.” 

“Please Geralt, if I was afraid of that I’d have already informed the police. I haven’t, and I certainly don’t intend to, as long as you hold up your end.”

He scowled. She had a point. She could have, at any time, sent that recording to the media, the police, to anyone. She didn’t. She obviously wanted something else. “What do you want?”

“$2 million.”

He laughed. “You can’t possibly be serious.”

She didn’t smile. Her face was like a stone, eyes cold. Maybe it was a trick of the fluorescent bulbs, but they very nearly seemed to swirl in a cold blue fire. “Oh, but I am.”

“What could you possibly want with that kind of money, Yennefer?” He didn’t understand. She seemed decently well-off. The practice was small but clean and orderly. She certainly didn’t seem destitute enough to risk her own life for a couple million.

“My reasons are my own, Geralt, and I do not intend to share them with you.”

He grimaced in response. “You’re a fool if you think this is worth $2 million.”

“I don’t need more, I don’t need less. You’re going to get me that money, or I’ll be informing the entire country of exactly what the gentle horse racing Rivia’s actually do beyond beating innocent animals into submission.” Her gaze narrowed, and for the first time since he met her, he felt actual hate stemming from her in thick waves. 

_ What was that about? Was this about fucking horses? What?  _ “What the hell are you even talking about?” he spat at her. 

“I’m not interested in continuing this, Geralt. I want the money, I want it tonight, and then you can have the recording. You can have the entire phone for all I care.”

“And what will you do, Yennefer? What big plans do you have after you’ve stolen $2 million of drug cartel money?” 

She smiled there, quick and a little mean. “Worried about me, Geralt?”

_ Yes. _

“Worried you’ll keep your promise,” he lied.

“Well, you needn’t be. I’ll be gone from here forever.” She stopped, her eyes flashing down and breath catching for a moment before she continued. “You’ll never need to see me again.”

He didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t give a shit about the money. He didn’t understand why this was the case. Why was he more worried about the safety of the woman extorting him than he was about anything else right now? 

It didn’t matter. He’d never see her again. She didn’t give a damn about seeing him again. He was nothing but a means to an end for her. Nothing at all. 

“Good, I’ve no interest in seeing the likes of you again, Yennefer.” Her lips quivered at that, and as ridiculous as it was, he wanted to take that back. He wished he could take that.

He was an idiot.

“The money is in the vault in the main house. I’m assuming cash only.”

“Of course,” she whispered, and her voice caught. She cleared her throat and started again. “Of course it will be cash only. I’m not an idiot, Geralt.”

“I thought that too, at one point,” he replied, and she scowled at him.

“Let’s go,” she hissed.

They walked out of the room together, leaving Julian sleeping on the table. He’d finally stopped muttering about Connie’s glorious tits and seemed to be in a deep sleep. 

“Watch Julian, Chireadan,” she smiled. “And you know what to do if…”

“I know, Dr. Vengerberg,” he replied.

So the little kid he thought had the school-boy crush on Yennefer knew all along. He knew, and he tried to warn him. Chireadan just shook his head sadly as he stared at Geralt, then lowered his eyes. Geralt knew what the look meant. 

He followed Yennefer out into the darkness to visit the place he hated more than anything else in this entire God-forsaken country: his family home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in The Last Wish, you never actually learn that Yennefer wants to have a child and that's why she'd trying to capture a djinn. You don't learn about her desire to be a mother until Bounds of Reason. So, her reasoning for this story will NOT be revealed in this story; however, I do try to make little hints as to what she wants (Hint, not children in here). What drives her. Her passion. Maybe you can guess? Good luck!


	7. Rash Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That low boil is set to smoldering now, and these two got a little sloppy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special shout out to KT and Superkarka who have encouraged me the whole way this VERY outside my comfort zone modern AU! Thank you both ❤  
> And that smooch in here, that's for you, Super ;) . You've been so patient!

He couldn’t speak to her in the Jeep on the drive to that wretched mass of house he called his family home. Part of him despised her for making him step foot inside that vile mansion again. Part of despised himself for feeling that towards her. 

It was all so  _ fucking  _ confusing. 

How, in the timespan of a few hours, had someone entangled themselves so fully into his psyche. By all accounts, he should hate her. She was extorting him for an exorbitant amount of cash. She was lumping him in with the rest of his family and the crimes they perpetuate in their community and beyond. Did she have any real idea of what they did? Probably not. If she had, would she be this rash? This foolish? Was she really this desperate?

He thought about her barely-contained rage as she mentioned the horses. Did this have something to do with the animals? He knew nothing substantial about the cover business that was his mother’s brainchild. He did know of the headtrainer Fringilla. He’d met her once or twice at a bar, and those meetings would inevitably end back at her place, with him finding some excuse to leave the moment it was over. She was demanding and even violent in bed. He’d left her home with more than a few bloody marks along his back, none of them worth the pleasure he received in exchange. If that kind of behavior carried into how she treated the horses…

He could begin to see why she wanted to get away. 

Not that that would excuse this, however.

He pulled into the main drive and put the Jeep in park. “Yennefer,” he sighed. “You haven’t thought this through. Once again, you have no idea what you’re dealing with. I am asking you to reconsider.”

“Keep driving, Geralt,” she replied. 

“No. Not until you at least make me understand why you’re willing to put a death sentence over your head.”

She looked directly at him, and dammit if his breath didn’t catch at the site of her. He had seen beautiful women before, of course he had. He’d bed plenty of them as well, though his number was nowhere near the heights Julian managed to reach. 

But Yennefer…

He was drawn to her like a moth to a deadly flame. She’d burn him, he knew she would. 

And he didn’t care. He’d let the fire consume him for her. He knew that. 

“Why do you care?” she asked him, and the sound forced him out of his musings. 

“You’ll be hurt…,” he began to say, his voice barely above a whisper. 

She smirked. “As I told you before, my welfare and my plans are none of your concern. Now drive, Geralt, or this recording gets sent to the police and you’ll have far more to worry about than whether or not I get hurt.”

“Chireadan…,”

She cut him off. “Geralt, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but he’s totally besotted with me. It’s actually made our working relationship more than a little strained on my end. Him taking over the practice is the best thing for the both of us. So no, Chireadan will not be turning me in.”

Jealousy, liquid hot and unexpected, raced through him at the thought of another man having her. 

Seriously, what the _ fuck  _ was his problem!?

He put the Jeep in drive. “Nothing is going to be the same after this, Yennefer. Nothing. You won’t be able to go back.”

She was quiet for a long moment, tucking an errant black curl behind her ear while looking straight ahead, purposefully avoiding his gaze. “Good,” she whispered at last.

*******

The house loomed in front of them, ostentatious as it always was. It had been nearly a year since Geralt had even stepped foot in the home - much to his mother’s chagrin - and he could see more money had been poured into the place. The statues were new, as were the absurd fountains flanking the entrance. Geralt parked and they both stepped out. He noted that Yennefer seemed confident in her pose and gate, something he could respect, though it was wholly out-of-place at the moment. 

“Yennefer! Are you insane? You can’t just walk in like that,” he hissed. “Come here.”

“Geralt, you are not going to dissuade me…”

“Shut the fuck up and come here,” he said, walking towards her to meet in the middle. “If you want to get in without raising any eyebrows you’ll need to follow my lead.”

She grimaced but agreed. Geralt grabbed her by the hand and led her up the steps to the main door. As her fingers entwined in his, he felt himself smile despite the shit situation he was in. The situation she had put them  _ both  _ in.

“Geralt?” a voice said. It was the large doorman, Alfonso. Geralt had known the man for 10 years now. He was integral to the  _ real  _ family business. Geralt didn’t know - didn’t want to know - how many bodies were buried in the swamps and bogs of the lowland, but Alfonso did; he was the man burying them. “Welcome home. It’s been a while”

Geralt tried to smile. “Too long,” Geralt lied. Thanks, Alfonso.”

“And who is this lovely woman?” Alfonso noted as his eyes trailed up and down Yennefer’s figure. Geralt narrowed his own.

“Someone I’d like to get upstairs immediately,” laughed Geralt, and he pulled Yennefer to him, relishing the feel of her body flush against his. Her eyes were soft, she was biting her lip, and Geralt forgot about Alfonso standing near him.  _ It’s part of the ruse, _ he told himself.  _ It’s all part of the ruse. _ Her gaze flickered to his mouth once, and before Geralt could respond, she kissed him. 

She kissed  _ him.  _

Her lips were impossibly soft, the lipstick sweet, and when she opened her mouth, he took his advantage, pulling her tighter against him. He felt his cock pushing against his zipper, and he heard her gasp the tiniest whimper when she pushed her pelvis to it.

“Ahem…,” said a voice.

He pulled away, and they were both breathing heavy against the other’s mouth. Yennefer’s eyelids fluttered open, and they stared at each other momentarily. Geralt started to lean back into her, to chase her mouth once more, but the voice stopped him. 

“Your parents aren’t home, Geralt. Place is yours. Have fun.” Alfonso looked over Yennefer again, his gaze resting on her heaving breasts. “ I know I would.”

Geralt wrapped his arm around her and pulled her up the stairs, intent on getting away from that creep before he did something he regretted.

*******

“Which way to the vault?” her voice cracked. 

Geralt did his best to ignore the painful erection she’d given him, again.  _ Fuck, _ this woman… He was at a loss as to what the hell was the matter with him, and it was starting to piss him off. 

“To the left,” Geralt croaked out, immediately embarrassed at the discombobulation in his voice. 

“I don’t trust that man,” Yennefer commented as she followed him.

“Said the woman here to steal $2 million,” he replied, and she scowled. “And no, you shouldn’t trust him, because he’s killed many people for lesser crimes than you’re about to commit.” He stopped for a minute. “Yennefer please, see some fucking reason here. You don’t have to do this.”

“Just move, Geralt,” she hissed back.

They made it to the vault, hidden in a false door the opposite wing of the family living quarters. He stared at the innocuous door and sighed. “Please, Yennefer,” he whispered. “I can’t…,” she stopped. 

“You can’t what?” she asked back.

“I can’t see you get hurt.”

They stared at each other for a minute, and Geralt caught her lips quivering. 

“Geralt,” she said quietly. “Please don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

He turned and began to open the door, cursing himself for his stupidity. Why should he care if she gets hurt?

_ That kiss… _

“Yennefer, there has to be another way. There has to be.”

She didn’t answer. He turned around to confront her, and stopped cold. 

There, right before him, was Alfonso, handgun to Yennefer’s temple and arm around her throat and mouth. 

“I agree with you, Geralt,” he sneered. “There is another way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alfonso is a good name for a "djinn", right? ;)


	8. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...Light beamed from her hands. Very feeble light.
> 
> The djinn opened his mouth and stretched his paws toward her. 
> 
> The witcher suddenly understood what it was he wanted.
> 
> And he made his wish." -The Last Wish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I'm SO sorry I have been away for a little bit! We were traveling, and it was my birthday last week, so I took a bit of a break from writing, but I promise I haven't disappeared!

**Yennefer**

She felt the slime of his sweat across her mouth and chocked down a gag. She was furious with herself. How had she let that massive lump of a bodyguard sneak behind her like that? Not that she had anything to protect herself against him anyway. Her leverage with Geralt had been the phone, but she’d already sent Chireadan a message telling him that the plan had been successful, that the practice was his, and that she wouldn’t be sending him the recording. She’d sent it after that kiss. 

That kiss that derailed it all. She wouldn't, she couldn’t, see Geralt hurt by this. She simply couldn’t. 

She cursed herself. How long had she been planning, and failing, to devise ways to hit the Rivia’s where it hurt? To take just a bit from them what they had taken from the horses they abuse and the community they used as a means to an end? But then Geralt appeared. Geralt, with his compassion for his friend that trumped convenience and reason. Geralt with his beat-up old Jeep when he should reek of privilege and luxury. Geralt with his lips that felt like they were made to be on hers and hers alone, that made her ache to press hers to them again. Geralt that made everything upside down and topsy turvy, but it was alright, because maybe this was right side up all along.

And she faltered, in a moment when she shouldn’t have, and now she had a gun to her head.

She looked at Geralt, trying to derive anything from his expression. Fear, and rage. 

“Put it down,” he whispered. His voice was rough, scratchy to the ears.

“Put what down? The gun? I wouldn’t trust this little cunt, Geralt.”

“Put the gun down, Alfonso,” Geralt said again, his voice strained as if hiding an avalanche of fury behind it.

The man just pressed the barrel tighter against her temple. “I won’t lie, this wasn’t what I was planning on tonight. But fuck, Geralt, I saw this little piece, and the way you kissed her, and I thought I might give myself a nice treat listening to the little squeals you’d get her to make. Save that memory for later, you know? But you turned away from the rooms, and I knew there was something more here. So don’t worry your pretty boy head about her anymore. I’ll take care of her, just like the rest. I won’t even tell your parents you were here.”

“Put down the fucking gun, Alfonso.”

Alfonso laughed. “Please tell me you’re not stupid enough to actually care for the slit. How much was she trying to take, anyway? And you were just going to give it to her?”

Geralt stepped closer, his gaze flickering to hers, and she saw it, reflecting in the amber and gold pools of his eyes, in the tightness of his mouth and shoulders:  _ Fear.  _ But why? 

“You are that stupid…,” Alfonso laughed. Geralt took another step closer. He could reach them in a lunge if he wanted. “You’re getting awfully close, Geralt. I’d appreciate you backing away a bit, before you give off the wrong impression.”

Geralt took another step closer. “You work for my family, Alfonso, so when I tell you to put the gun down, you put the fucking gun down.”

Alfonso moved the gun from her temple, aiming it directly at Geralt’s chest. “I work for your family, true, but I work for their best interests, and quite frankly, I don’t believe you have the Rivias’ best interest at heart with this little bitch.” 

Geralt glanced at the gun pointing at him. “And you think  _ this _ would be in their best interest?”

But Yennefer didn’t give him a chance to respond. Seeing that pig of a man point his gun at Geralt’s chest was enough for her. He didn’t have her hands…

She smacked his outstretched arm, hard, and the gun sounded. _ Did he shoot Geralt?  _ Everything was a blur. Alfonso cursed, and Yennefer kneed him as hard as she could in the balls. He howled and the weapon went flying. Thick hands wrapped around her throat, squeezing tighter and tighter. She tried to scream, tried to gasp for breath, but it was useless: she couldn’t breath. Her vision began to blur, black spots weaving in and out of her sight like holes in wet sand. Her heart was hammering; the hands gripped it tighter. It wouldn’t be long now…

She thought of Geralt as her world started to turn to black.

**Geralt**

He had her, those fucking meaty hands squeezing the literal breath out of her, and he knew. He watched her eyes closing, the most beautiful eyes in the world, and he knew. Some part of him had always known, since the moment he’d seen her. Maybe he was just now willing to accept it. 

He picked up the gun, pointed it in front of him, and he made his choice. 

He squeezed the trigger. He was surprised how easy it was. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's ready for some romance between these two? Stay tunned!


	9. Some Kind of Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Geralt, why me?"
> 
> "Don't you know?"
> 
> Ugh, my favorite line. I love it. Love them. All the happy noises here.

**Yennefer**

The noise of the pistol reverberated throughout the hall, bouncing off the mahogany wainscoting, and she waited. She waited for the pain to hit her, for the life to seep out of her, for the ending. She waited. 

But nothing came. The only thing that did finally happen was the iron grip that had nearly squeezed the air out of her completely lessened, and finally fell away completely. The heavy arms that were crushing her dropped, and the body next to her slumped in on itself, finally crumpling into a heap before her. 

She looked up, eyes glistening in tears, and her gaze met his. Gun in his hand, he slowly lowered his arm. “Geralt?” she whispered. Her voice burned in her injured throat, but it was there. She was alive.

“Yennefer,” he replied. His voice was clear, even. “Yennefer, are you alright?”

She turned, staring at the expanding pool of blood at her feet. The man Alfonso didn’t move. “I think so,” she rasped again. 

“Are you hurt?” he asked, with less certainty in his voice than before. He stepped towards her.

She didn’t take her eyes off the man. “Geralt, is he…?” She couldn’t finish the question. 

“Yes,” he said. He took another step, then another, until he gently reached out and took her hand. “Yennefer, we can’t stay here. We have to go.” She turned to him, eyes dazed, and nodded. He opened the safe, grabbing the overnight bag she had brought to carry the cash she had planned to steal, and he shoved it full of stacks of hundreds. She had no idea how many he grabbed. “Come on,” he said when he was done, grabbing her hand. “We can’t stay here. Trust me.” She allowed him to pull her out of the wretched house. Out of death she had caused, the destruction her ill-thought plan had wrought. The wreckage around her. She allowed him to lead her out, gripping his hand tighter, like it was her only life raft in a raging storm.

*******

They had been driving for three hours - long enough to see the dawn beginning to lighten the eastern sky in a pale grey tinged with pink -with only one stop to his apartment to grab some clothes and hold his dog Roach. He had held the animal for a long time, whispering to the pup that it would be ok, that he would see her again soon, and to be a good girl. The moment had felt too personal for her to witness, and she had needed to turn away before she began to cry. 

“Why don’t you take her there?” she had asked. 

“Where is there, Yennefer? I have no idea, I just know we need to leave, now. It wouldn’t be right to bring her into whatever the next few months will bring. Julian will watch her, and when I can, I’ll come back for her,” he had responded, and his voice had cracked. “I’ll come back for you, Roach, I promise you.”

She had nodded. She had no idea what the next few months were going to bring, either. She had only known that her fate was now inexplicably tied to his, and that had scared and excited her in equal measure. 

Now, driving with him these past hours, smelling his cologne and feeling the heat coming off his body, it only excited her. She wasn’t scared of what the future would bring anymore. 

He pulled into a roadside motel and parked the Jeep. Taking a deep breath, he sighed. “I’m exhausted,” he finally said. 

She smiled and hesitantly touched his cheek. “I’ll get us a room.” He nodded and leaned his head against the steering wheel.

She walked to the front office, and a man with greasy brown hair looked up. He licked his lips at the sight of her, and Yennefer grimaced. “I need a room,” she said.

His eyes looked over her figure, taking in the dress she still wore. She was grateful she had packed some extra clothes. “For how many?” 

“Two,” she responded immediately. “My boyfriend and myself.” She had only said it to scare the leering ass away, but she was surprised at how easily the word slipped out of her mouth.  _ Boyfriend… _

His ugly face curled into an equally ugly sneer. “Too bad,” he replied, then proceeded to hand her a room key. “Room 115, it’s just been cleaned. $100 for the night. We don’t rent by the hour here.” 

She snatched the key from his hand. “We won’t need it by the hour,” she retorted, and she walked out. 

She made it back to the Jeep and found Geralt still sitting in the driver’s seat, leaning his head against the steering wheel as if he was about to fall asleep. “Geralt?” she whispered. “Geralt, I got a room for us.” 

“Just one?” he asked.

She hadn’t even considered renting two. She hoped she hadn’t presumed too much. “Just one. I hope that’s alright.”

He looked at her a moment and smiled. “Let’s go,” he said, and he grabbed the duffle of cash and his clothes.

*******

The room was not what she expected, considering the greasy man that ran the place. The fixtures were from another era, one that appreciated pastel colors and floral bedding far too much. She felt as if she stepped into the set of The Golden Girls, only the set hadn’t been given an upgrade in 30 years and the wear and tear was showing. But, it was clean, and the bed looked inviting enough, and she was too exhausted to care anymore. 

“I didn’t know they still made furniture like this,” he said, and she laughed softly. 

“I don’t think they do. Pretty sure this is all original, right out of 1985 Miami.”

He shook his head, leaned his neck to the side to stretch it, and threw the bag down. He sat on the bed and began to take off his shoes. As if he thought better of it, he turned to her and stood up again. “You can have the bed,” he replied, eyeing the oversized chair in the corner. “I’ll sleep there.” He grabbed a pillow. 

She walked over to him, running her hands along the length of his arms before she grabbed the pillow from him and sat it on the bed. “No, you won’t, Geralt.” She ran her hands slowly up his chest, feeling his heart pounding beneath her fingers, the soft fabric of his shirt hot from the heat of his body. They hadn’t spoken about anything. They hadn’t talked about Alfonso, about him killing the man that would most certainly have killed her, and how with that act - not to mention the theft - he had alienated his family, possibly forever, and put his own life at risk. They hadn’t talked about him leaving the apartment, his beloved dog, his job,  _ everything, _ when he saved her. They hadn’t talked about any of it. 

“Geralt,” she whispered nervously, afraid of the answer, afraid of the regret that must be laced behind it.  _ How could it not be? _ “Why me?”

But no regret came. He ran a hand down her cheek, and she leaned into his touch, savoring the feel of his fingers along her skin. “Don’t you know?” he replied softly back.

And she did. She couldn’t explain it, but she did. And that was all that mattered. Everything was crashing to pieces around them, but none of that made a bit of difference.

And she kissed him. 

It was so much more than the kiss they had shared at his home, the kiss that was meant to be a diversion but turned into something else entirely. This was so much more than that. The feel of his lips against hers pushed out every other feeling, and all she could focus on was the need for more. “Geralt,” she sighed as she pulled away. “I can’t let you...”

But he didn’t let her finish, choosing instead to chase her lips again, claiming her. His hands went from her shoulders to her waist, caressing her sides, her hips, and leaving her breathless. He had never touched her, yet somehow he knew her body, and his hands acted as though they always belonged there. She was certain they did. She pulled his shirt, indicating he needed to take it off, and in a shift motion it was on the floor. She ran her fingers along his bare chest again, and he stifled a moan as her nails softy raked through his chest hair. His hands went to her zipper, the one that he had so deftly zipped up mere hours early, and slowly zipped it down her back. She felt the dress give way across her waist, and he carefully slipped the material off her shoulders, allowing it to puddle on the floor in a black silk pool. She wasn’t wearing a bra, still, and he stared at her breasts for a moment before looking back up at her. 

“What have you done to me, Yennefer. What kind a spell have you put me under?” He pulled her toward him and she could feel the erection in his jeans. 

“Funny, Geralt, because I would ask the same of you.”

He nuzzled into her neck, kissing the skin below her ear, and she felt her nipples harden against his chest as shivers went up and down her back. “There’s some magic here, I think, because since the moment I saw you, you’ve owned my every thought.”

She pulled his face to hers, looking him in the eye. “Show me, Geralt Rivia.” She lay down on the bed, and with a smirk that left her hungry, he followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Geralt and Yennefer here deserve more than just a simple paragraph of smut, and I'm going to give it to them, hence the wait :)


	10. Yen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then the world started to exist again; but it existed very differently.
> 
> “Geralt?”
> 
> “Mmm?”
> 
> “What now?”
> 
> “I don't know.” “Nor do I. Because, you see, I…I don't know whether it was worth condemning yourself to me. I don't know how—Wait, what are you doing…? I wanted to tell you—” 
> 
> “Yennefer…Yen.”
> 
> “Yen,” she repeated, giving in to him completely. “Nobody's ever called me that. Say it again.”
> 
> “Yen.” 
> 
> “Geralt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I pulled some direct quotes from The Last Wish here, and they are noted by *....*

**Geralt**

He stopped for a moment, just to stare at her a bit longer. Her eyes, had he ever even seen a color like that before? Warm violet, like the petals of a hollyhock blossom basking in the late-afternoon sun. She looked at him, a smile playing on her lips, and he came to her, covering her with his body. He kissed her down her chest until he reached her breasts and she moaned as he took her pale-pink nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hard pebble. Her back arched into him, and he took the other nipple between his lips, trying desperately to control his breathing as she mewed from the feel of him. 

“Geralt,” she muttered softly, and he slid up to her lips once more, tenderly kissing them as he moved a wayward curl from the side of her cheek. She opened her eyes and smiled at him, and he kissed the corner of her mouth. She reached up, put her small hand around the back of his neck, and she nuzzled her nose against his. 

He could smell her perfume wafting from her hair, which looked like a spilled bottle of ink against the white of the pillow case, and he sighed. “That smell, I’ll never not crave that scent.” He buried his face in her soft tresses and she laughed softly.

“Make love to me, Geralt,” she whispered in his ear. Her voice was thinly-veiled lust, pure and wanting, and he groaned in response. She began to work at the fly of his zipper, trying her best to free him of his pants, and he gasped as she took his cock into her hand. Her fingers danced lightly along his shaft, caressing the heated skin and making him bite his lip in desire for her. He was so hard it was physically painful, and he left out a shaking breath into her shoulder as she grabbed him in earnest, her hand stroking up and down his length. 

“Yennefer…,” he croaked out, barely audible to his own ears. She nipped him once on the side of his jaw before soothing the spot with her tongue, and he felt his cock jerk in her hand. At that she cupped his balls and he cried out softly. “Yennefer, I can’t…” he groaned again.

She must have understood him, because she pulled her hand away from his cock and gently pushed him onto his back. She stared a moment at his erection, swollen and the head glistening with precum, and she smirked. “In my wallet,” he said, nodding to his discarded pants. She knelt down to grab them, pulling out the wallet, and she handed it to him. He opened it to pull out the condom, but she grabbed it from him. Bottom lip clenched between her teeth, he watched transfixed as her fingers traced the veins of his cock before rolling the condom down his shaft. Deftly, with the grace of some creature of myth, she straddled him, wrapping her thighs around his for greater purchase. She looked at him once more, her smile a mystery he longed to unravel, and with an agonizingly-slow pace, sank down onto him. 

He couldn’t think, he couldn’t focus, he could hardly even breathe as her core stretched to accommodate him. She cried out, wincing softly as their bodies met. He knew he was large, and he loathed the idea of hurting her in any way. He gripped her hips to steady her. “Are you ok? We don’t have to do this.” He began to pull out.

“Stop,” she said, and her core squeezed him tighter, holding him in place. He couldn’t hold back his moan. She leaned lower and kissed him softly. “I’m better than ok, Geralt.” She rolled her hips experimentally and he moved with her, rocking into her slowly, allowing her body to accommodate his girth. “Geralt,” she said breathily, and he rocked his hips upwards again, relishing the sound of her catching her breath with a soft curse. She responded in kind, their bodies moving in time, like a dance they had performed time and time again with each other, even though this was their first time together. 

He slipped his hands to her clit, rubbing the hard nub as she moved on top of him, and she choked down a small sob. He continued his ministrations until he felt her core tightening around him. He tried to listen to her moan, tried to memorize the sound of her pleasure so he would always know what she needed and how he could give it to her, but it was too much. He gripped her hips, steeling himself against her orgasm as she rode wave after wave of release. She slowed, and he took the moment to flip her, eliciting a small yelp as her back hit the mattress. He grabbed her underneath her rear, pulled them to the edge of the mattress, and still shieved inside of her, stood up and carried her to the wall. 

She gasped in surprise as he back hit the wall, smarting at the cool contact of the fading wallpaper. She looked like a wild, feral beauty, hair falling around, eyes sparkling and cheeks flushed from her orgasm, and she pulled his mouth to hers, her lips seemingly needy for his own, and he thrusted desperately into her. She screamed his name in earnest this time, and he could feel her start to come again, her muscles fluttering around him in anticipated release. There was no stopping himself from falling off the cliff with her this time, and he felt himself burn as his release overtook him. 

And they fell together, a couple entwined in the most intimate of ways, through a veil of night and endless stars. 

And when they finally landed, breathing in time with one another, it was another world. Something ended, something began, and they could never go back.

Not that either ever wanted to.

**Yennefer**

She hated being touched after sex. She never wanted any man to hold her, preferring instead to slink away from their arms. 

Not with him. 

She rested her head against his chest, her limbs languid and pliant against the hard planes of his frame. He ran his fingers through the tips of her hair, playing with her unruly curls, and she smiled against his skin. She felt him hum in response.

“Where did you come from, Geralt Rivia,” she sighed, snuggling her cheek into him as her fingers trailed along his stomach. He captured her hand in his and brought it to her lips, kissing the tips of her fingers softly. 

*"Yennefer...Yen.”

“Yen,” she repeated, giving herself to him completely. “Nobody’s ever called me that before. Say it again.”

“Yen.”

“Geralt.”*

He pulled her tight against him, his lips married to hers once more, and everything else faded away until only him and his hands along her body existed in this world. 

As it must have always been meant to be. 

**Dandelion**

He stared at the wall, confused, trying to remember the events that lead them to this point. He remembered the bar, the long piss, a gunshot. 

Holy fuck, he’d been shot!

He touched the bandages along his stomach, and decided he must have survived, else the afterworld and ascension to a higher plane really was just a bunch of bullshit the rehab center in Sedona spouted off at him. He turned to see a young man, blonde, staring at his phone and weeping softly. 

“Where am I? Where’s Geralt” he asked, but the man only looked sadly at him.

“He’s gone with her. I never should have...I saw the way he looked at her. I knew what he felt. I saw her look at him. I knew…”

What the hell was this man blubbering about. Geralt gone with who? He pulled out his phone to read the short message from his friend.

_ Dandelion, _

_ I need to go away for the time being. I can’t explain, but you’ll hear about it soon enough. Please, PLEASE, take Roach. I’ll be back for her. I promise. But please look after her until then.  _

_ And thank you, Julian. TY for dragging me out tonight. TY for getting shot. TY for insisting we avoid the hospital. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you enough for the gift you gave me.  _

_ Take care of Roach, and thank you for being a friend. _

_ -G _

He read the message three times. What the hell was happening? He looked over at the young blonde man again, but he only smiled, and the smile had nothing to do with happiness, and Dandelion understood that somehow, everything had changed. 

“What is going on? Tell me, dammit!”

*The man smiled. Very, very sadly. “I don’t like grand words,” he said. “And it is impossible to give it a name without using grand words."*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's DONE! Thank you all for sticking along with the ride. It certainly was longer and more complicated than I had originally anticipated, but I'm happy with how it turned out, and I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you again for all the love and support. You are amazing!

**Author's Note:**

> What do you think? Please let me know! Comments and kudos are so appreciated!


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